“Taught me lessons, quelled my fears,
Your product line’s been sold.
We’ve shared metallic silver tears,
But these ones will be gold…”
Portia raised her voice as loud as she could. She swatted away at her face with fingers that became gilded with the stains of her tears.
“…A final battle you have won,
Victory is yours.
And so you feel your mission’s done,
You’re off to hallowed shores…”
The Sirens looked at each other one last time before Leucosia’s distant form broke the surface of the dark wine waters.
“Please know that for all my years,
When my story’s done and told,
They’ll remember all my silver tears,
But not these ones of gold…”
Portia then turned to fly away.
“…Only for you, the gold…”
The auditorium at Newark Academy was filled to capacity. RPA had hired a bus to take its students over so that they could support one of their own in the poetry slam.
Portia looked around the room. Felix was sitting a couple of rows in front of her with Gabrielle Parker. She thought of moving up, but that would defeat the purpose of the distance she had been putting between them since that day on the mountaintop.
She thought about him all the time. The way he had saved her. The way he had touched her neck, breathed beautiful words into her ears. But every memory was clouded by the confession Leucosia had made before she died. And no matter how much she tried to get that cloud to lift, it simply would not.
I’m no good for him. Look at what he’s been through already because of me. I can’t ask him to be with me through anything else. He deserves a life. Some normal.
These were now the thoughts that governed her actions toward him. And though he was perplexed and disappointed at her behavior, he seemed to have decided not to push the matter. At least for now. Maybe he figured she was too distraught over the loss of Leucosia. Or the harm she had inflicted upon Max.
Max.
He sat next to her, blissfully oblivious to what had befallen him. Portia took his hand and traced her finger over the deep red scar in his palm, the one that he was convinced happened during a running accident.
“So they said that you must have grabbed on hard to the road barrier when you tripped,” she had told him. “It really sliced your hands open. They said that the divider gave way, though, and you ended up tumbling down the hill. You only lost consciousness for a few minutes, they think…”
She had offered him the story once he was safely stitched and bandaged—Zeus had taken on that task—and back in the safety of his bed.
He had bought it hook, line, and sinker.
A heavy blonde girl was up on the stage, delivering a powerful poem about the injustices of a world that idealizes the likes of Kate Moss.
Charlotte was up next, and Portia hoped that her friend’s confidence had not waned. Portia had been ready to take on the entire task of supernaturally delivering Charlotte’s poem, but she had seen a change in her friend these past weeks leading up to the big contest. With each time Charlotte practiced the poem for her, she seemed to acquire another level of fearlessness.
“The bottom line is, Portia,” Charlotte had offered the other day, “standing up in a room full of people will probably pale in comparison to some of the stuff he put us through. Even if they hate me.”
“They won’t hate you, Charlotte. Nobody could ever hate you.”
Now Portia hoped her words would prove true and was ready and willing to offer backup in case Charlotte choked.
She scanned the room to see who else had come to show their support. Her own parents sat in the front row with Janie Trotter. She knew Helena and Joshua felt tremendous guilt for never having known about the abuse that was being carried out just an acre away from their own home. Helena and Janie had actually developed a strong bond over these past months.
Jacqueline was sitting a few rows behind her with Luke and Lance. And even Zachary Wilson had made an appearance. Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad after all.
The audience applauded the blonde poet who exited the stage. Charlotte walked out next, and though Portia detected a slight tremor in her neighbor’s hands, her posture was taut, a look of sheer determination plastered on her face.
A hush fell over the room as Charlotte adjusted the microphone to accommodate her elfin height. She cleared her throat and Portia straightened up, preparing herself for the worst. But from the first word uttered, Charlotte seemed to have it in the bag:
“A fist came, a battle axe,
Upon her. Upon me.
And then another.
And another…”
Portia beamed with pride at her friend who stood before the judging eyes of her peers, delivering her words with the confidence and vehemence with which she had written them.
Felix turned back toward her. “How’s she doing?” he signed out.
Portia responded with a thumbs-up.
“And now I’m left with a name.
A name I choose to claim.
A name that holds the pain.
A name that doles out blame.”
Max gave Portia’s hand a squeeze as Charlotte continued to belt out her words. She was a quarter of the way through, and with each line uttered, she grew more resolute.
Portia allowed herself to relax a bit. She wouldn’t have to throw her voice after all. She took out her phone and started typing out a text to Leucosia:
“She’s doing amazing! I’m not even gonna have to—”
And then she remembered. Still, she didn’t have the heart to delete Leucosia from her contact list. Seeing her name on her phone made Portia feel like Leucosia was somehow still out there. Somewhere in a world mythological, virtual, supernatural. One day those worlds would inevitably cross over one another, wouldn’t they? Even if for the briefest moment? She still had so much to say, so many questions to ask.
“Colors can define us.
Mine so often red…”
Charlotte continued to bare her soul as the audience sat riveted. And then a sudden trip-up:
“Mountaintops once lush with green
have witnessed deaths of Gods obscene…”
What? Why would Charlotte have said that?
And that’s when Portia felt it.
A bed of thorns. An acupuncture. A thousand tiny needles piercing her skin all at once.
A prickle unlike any other.
The redhead wasn’t really in the mood for poetry. She much preferred the task of gathering information from the unstable Alan Hunter while pumping him full of drugs. Besides, she had spent a grueling night with Scylla trying to quiet the hostage. All of Norah Hunter’s screaming about getting back to Max, to Alan, had really given her a migraine. What she really needed was to get home and take some Immitrex.
But how could she have passed up this opportunity? The entire cast of mortal characters that comprised Portia Griffin’s life under one roof? It was too much of a gift to miss.
And so she took them all in, one by one. Portia’s parents—her own extremely distant cousins. They were, after all, descendants of her Aunt Leucosia’s, which would make them cousins how many times removed? Not worth figuring. Especially with the worsening of her headache.
Then there was the Hunter boy, who shared dimples identical to Marsyas’s. Why should that have surprised her? The boy had inherited his ancestor’s musical genius, so why not a physical attribute or two? Although she wondered if Ligeia’s childhood friend had also possessed such disarming good looks.
And the one who might prove to be a problem. Felix Fein. Leucosia had done well to bring about the boy’s deafness. She was impressed that her aunt had spotted such exceptional qualities in Felix at such a young age. The deafness would be a stumbling block to her own plans, but she was not all that concerned.
She would figure out a way.
And she would start right now.
As the slight figure of Portia’s dear friend Charlotte walked onto the stage, Khloe sat upright.
She had always loved throwing her voice, had been able to do it from a very young age. But this time would be different.
Today it was not just her voice she was throwing but the first punch in a battle that promised to bring a peace that had evaded her for thousands of years.
A Modern Glossary of
Silent Echo’s
Gods and a few ancient mortals.
For a more illustrative guide to the Gods,
please visit
www.elisafreilich.com
(WARNING - may contain spoilers!)
Achelous
– God of the Rivers. With Terpsichore, Goddess of the Dance, he fathered the three Sirens, Parthenope, Ligeia and Leto.
Aphrodite
– The Goddess of love.
Ares
– The mighty god of War.
Athena
– Goddess of Wisdom.
Dionysus
– This God of Wine and Madness.
Leto
– A Siren and the youngest daughter of Achelous and Terpsichore. Also known by another name.
Ligeia
– A Siren, and the middle daughter of Achelous and Terpsichore.
Marsyas
– A god blessed with uncanny musical ability.
Melina
– The daughter of Leucosia and Nereus, married to a mortal named Nikolas.
Morpheus
– The God of Dreams.
Nereus
– The mortal captain of the ship held captive by the Sirens.
Odysseus
– A mortal sailor who was not lured in by the song of the Sirens as he was tied securely to the mast of his ship when he heard their song.
Parthenope
– A Siren, and the oldest of the three daughters of Terpsichore and Achelous.
Polyphemus
– A giant Cyclops, and son of Poseidon.
Poseidon
– The Great Earth Shaking God.
Proteus
– A shapeshifting God, able to see the future in all matters except those clouded by love.
Scylla
– A murderous Six Headed Goddess who resided right near the Sirens’ favored island.
Terpsichore
– Goddess of the Dance. With Achelous, God of the Rivers, Terpsichore gave birth to the three Sirens, Parthenope, Ligeia and Leto.
Themis
– A Goddess with clear visions of the future.
Tiresias
– A prophet who could see the future, even after his death.
Zeus
– King of all the Gods.
There are so many people to whom I owe a formidable shout-out. Without the help of family and friends,
Silent Echo
might still be a story continually unfolding in my overcrowded mind rather than one being shared with readers.
David, for someone who is not a bibliophile, you sure could have passed for one during the creation of
Silent Echo
. Thank you for reading all the rounds of editing, listening to all of my ideas (no matter how inane they might have been), and for remaining the man I knew you to be at the mere age of 20. You are, without a doubt, the best decision I ever made.
Marc Frommer, a.k.a. Dad—I miss you and all of your complexities, for without them I don’t think I would have stories inside me. And for the gift of words, I thank you. You were and always will remain my all time favorite wordsmith.
Alice Frommer, a.k.a. Mom—you have turned “rising to the occasion” into an art form. Every hysterical phone call, moment of doubt, frustration over rejections was met with words of wisdom that fell out of your mouth with, well, Sirenic ease. Thank you for always being there for me and for believing in me.
Abigail, Charlie and Juliette—thank you for allowing me to talk to your friends about
S.E.
ad nauseam. You are my world and have transformed our home into its own Mt. Olympus, replete with magic, wonder and discovery.
Jessica Regel—there is no better, more patient agent out there. You always had the right words for me, held my hand through so many rounds of editing and taught me the true meaning of showing vs. telling. Thanks for believing in me and in
Silent Echo.
Mary Cummings and all the folks at Diversion Books. Thank you all for being patient with the “nuclear reactor” that is me. Your collaborative efforts have come together and produced an elegant and wonderful result. I’m so happy to be taking this ride with you.
Amelia Wilson Ryan—you sure can design a website (and deal with a detail obsessed client!)
Jen and Rachel at Over the River Productions—you are filled with original ideas and are tireless in your efforts. Thank you!
To all my sisters-in-law (Jen, Helen, Stephanie and Phyllis)—use of “in-law” is superfluous. You are my sisters and I appreciate all of your encouragement throughout this process.
Beth, Bonnie, Jill, Yocheved and Shani—Thank you for enduring my constant chatter about SE and for all of your multiple rounds of readings (Shane—it looked great on your night table). You are all wonderful friends who have enriched my life and my creative pursuits in so many ways.
Keenah at Staples—I told you you’d get a shout out! Thanks for all the millions of times you printed out
S.E.
so that I could mark it up with the proverbial red pen. You Rock!
And to Gregory Maguire—taking fiction and spinning off more fiction from it? What a concept! Thanks for your inspiration.
Elisa
Freilich was born and raised in rural Monsey, New York,
where she spent her days reading whatever crossed her path and
developing a keen appreciation for the ever-present music in her
home—from classical to rock. From the time she could read and
write, Elisa would often be found composing poems, song lyrics
and satirical newspapers.
Throughout the years, Elisa has retained her devotion to all genres
of books and music and was determined to synthesize her passions
into one refreshing and original platform. The result is her debut
novel,
Silent Echo: A Siren’s Tale.
When Elisa is not writing, her creative outlets still abound. She
is fierce with a set of knitting needles, a hot glue gun and any
ingredients that can somehow be fashioned into a sinful and highly
caloric babka.
Elisa lives in New Jersey with her husband and three children.
For more about Elisa Freilich and the world of
Silent Echo: A
Siren’s Tale
, please visit
www.elisafreilich.com